Rynn’s hand moves to my chest. Finds the center scar—the one over my heart. Her fingers splay across it, light as breath.
“This is where you scared me,” she whispers.
I nod once. “And you stayed.”
Her other hand comes up. Curls around the back of my neck.
I lean into her.
We meet in a kiss—not rushed, not demanded, just given.
Her mouth is warm. Soft. A little chapped from sea air and wind. But it fits against mine like it’s always belonged there. Like everything else in our story was just waiting for this one pause in time.
I shift forward, let my hands rise—one to her waist, one to her back. I feel the slow catch of her breath against my chest as our bodies align, nothing between us now but skin and sky.
The moons rise together.
One pale violet, the other deep amber. They hang above us like witnesses.
The stone beneath us is old. I feel it in my bones. It hums with memory.
And as we lie down together, that hum seems to deepen.
She undresses slowly. Not shy, not hesitant—justpresent. Every motion purposeful. Every breath shared.
I follow.
Not just in action, but in rhythm. In reverence.
This isn’t like before. This isn’t release.
It’s worship.
The way her hands move over my chest, across old scars, down the curve of my side—each touch is a question. Each answer is breath.
She straddles me gently, and I brace her hips with my hands like she’s made of something rare. Not fragile. Just… irreplaceable.
When we move, it’s slow. A shared language of sighs and pressure and soft gasps.
She guides me. I follow. Then she follows. We’re mirrors. Reflections. No walls left between us, no masks, no ghosts.
Just this.
The way her body wraps around mine. The way her forehead presses against mine mid-breath, eyes closed like she’s feeling the whole universe through her skin.
The way our heartbeats align.
I lose sense of time.
Everything becomes motion and warmth. Her mouth on my neck. My hands in her hair. The salt of her skin. The breathless noises that escape her throat—quiet, desperate, sacred.
At some point, she grips my face in both hands. Her thumbs brush my cheekbones.
And shelooksat me.
Like she’s memorizing me.
Like she can’t believe I’m real.
